


Vignettes of the Blessed Realm - Everyday Life in Tol Eressea

by Anna_Wing



Series: Vignettes of the Blessed Realm [4]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 22:02:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1618586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Wing/pseuds/Anna_Wing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elvish civil servants at work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vignettes of the Blessed Realm - Everyday Life in Tol Eressea

"Incoming, incoming," carolled Ninwe, with irritating cheerfulness. "His Nibs has special guests tonight."

Fereniel put her stylus down. "Who now? I've just finished sorting out the after-dinner entertainment. If I have to re-do it..."

"Afraid so. It's a New Bod. Celebrimbor." Ninwe plopped himself into his chair, shaking raindrops from his dark hair. It was monsoon season in Avallonë, and the grey clouds were rolling in from the sea for the usual afternoon drenching. Ninwe liked the wet, true to his name and took regular breaks to go out and enjoy it.

Fereniel gave him a severe look. "Rehoused, Returned, Recalled To Life," she said. " _Not_ 'New Bod', you foam-witted peasant." 

Ninwe grinned, unmoved by the slur on his ancestry. They were long-time colleagues and usually chose to pay their community tax-service together. Elves with either the interest or the aptitude for administration were rare enough that Gil-Galad's Commissioner of Public Service (herself one of the few) was happy to assign them as a team whenever they re-appeared on her service roster.

"Anyway, he's coming with Lord Finrod to visit His Nibs and they'll be at the dinner. What's the programme?"

Fereniel looked at her neatly-organised order of proceedings in dismay. 

"It's the time of year for the Leithian... and you know Calmacil and his troupe do it so well..."

She crossed the words out with a sigh, and they erased themselves obediently from the page. It was clearly impossible to offer the guest of honour an entertainment in which his father and uncle featured as major villains. "Do you have any ideas about what we could do instead? We're a bit short of choices in this season." 

On the Lonely Isle, monsoon time was traditionally a time for quiet recollection and peaceful reflection. Or, as Fereniel hoped to do shortly, for taking long naps in the afternoon. 

Ninwe considered. 

"We did the new Laiquendi songs last week, those Avari poets aren't in until next month, will Master Frodo be there? We could always ask him for 'There And Back Again'." 

"He will, and no we can't. The Ring, remember?"

"Oh yes, Sauron's Infernal Device. No, I suppose we couldn't." Ninwe had been born and raised in the Grey Havens, and had wandered Westward one day without the rest of Middle-earth having ever really impinged upon him. It remained a matter of some bemusement for their relatives that he and Fereniel the Noldorin veteran of the Dagorlad should have become friends at all, let alone close ones.

"It should be cheerful and uncomplicated," he said. "Could we have something about that wild Maia in Middle-earth, the chap with the hat and the whip and the river-lady girlfriend?"

"Whips are for Balrogs," Fereniel said absently, already checking her capacious mental archives. "Do you mean Iarwain ben-Adar? That might do. Yes. That can't possibly upset anyone."

Satisfied, she wrote in her tidy hand, _The Adventures of Tom Bombadil: Raiders of the Lost Dragon-hoard_.


End file.
